by G. M. Ford
I saw it coming for me. When the shadow first emerged, tiptoeing out from the darkness at the back of the little building, I nearly called out to it. I flashed that this was one of those compensatory escape scenarios that a dying man goes through at the moment of his death. I'd seen a movie like that once.
The specter raised both hands above its head. Something about a rod and a staff comforting me ran through my mind. The staff came down with a metallic thud, taking Wesley full across the back of the neck.
He fell onto his side, his face a couple of inches from mine, jumping and shaking uncontrollably, his tongue lolling, his mismatched eyes wide with amazement, and then he was still.
I stared into his lopsided face. "Where's Caroline?" he said, without moving his lips. His body convulsed once more and then repeated the question.
I wondered how he was doing that. Neither his unblinking eyes nor his lips moved when he spoke. He shifted hands with the knife. I saw one hand take the blade from the other. I was stupefied until the blade began sawing at the tape binding my wrists. With a snap, my hands came apart.
Using my tingling arms for support, I got to my knees. I thought I might be dead. Bobby Warren stood above me, holding Wesley's gravity knife in one hand and a length of pipe in the other. "Where's Caroline?"
With my right hand, I gestured toward my should.
"Pull it out," I croaked.
The kid wasn't squeamish. He never hesitated. Bracing one hand around the entrance point, he jerked the needle from my back in one smooth motion. I felt as if my life force had followed the needle out, as if the air filling my body had whooshed out with a long, earsplitting "Ahhhhhhhh."
My whole left side was numb. I tucked my left arm in and scrambled over to the gun. I used it to point at the little building. I had to struggle to keep up with the kid. He had the door open and was standing frozen in the entranceway when I slid by him.
Blanche Hammer was contentedly tending the fire with a hooked brass poker. Caroline, her blond hair spread out on the floor toward us, was still unconscious. Her slacks and underwear dangled from one ankle. Eunice knelt by her side, her hands full of shining implement.
"What - ?" was all Bobby got out of his mouth before Eunice sprang to her feet and in three amazingly long, mechanical strides closed the distance between them, her needles and hooks thrust before her, her eyes filled with impassive blankness as if she were knitting, her narrow mouth wide open. "Not nooooow," she screamed. I shot her in the face.
Her gaunt frame slid to a stop head to head with Caroline. A pool of red began to form, halolike, around her head, sliding along the linoleum, soaking Caroline's hair. I stood and stared. I'd never shot a woman before.
Without Bobby Warren's "Look out!" Blanche would have gotten me with the poker for sure. Hindsight tells me he could have handled her. He was young and strong. She should have been no problem I guess I just wasn't thinking. Something snapped.
As Bobby stepped forward, holding the piece of pipe in both hands toward off the blow, I mindlessly turned the gun on Blanche Hammer and kept pulling the trigger until it clicked empty six or seven times.
We stood in the reverberating little office with the smell of burnt powder in the air. "Jesus," was all he said before rushing over to Caroline's side.
I leaned back against the door frame. "Are you real?" I asked.
He was patting her cheeks, checking her throat for a pulse.
"I'd better get a doctor."
"You're supposed to be dead. Burned up."
"I was pissing off the back porch when the place went up. I'd had a lot of beer. One minute I was standing on my back porch with my dick in my hand. The next thing I knew, the back of my shorts was burning."
He shuddered at the memory. "I ran off into the woods. I thought for sure there was going to be an explosion. By the time I got back to the house, man, there was this ghost thing running around in my driveway. I took off. I was scared shitless."
"Call a doctor," I said. "Call the cops." I slid down the wall into a sitting position. "Call everybody."
He started to rush out. I waved the gun at him. He stopped.
"Is she bleeding?" He went back and shyly checked her over.
"Not that I can see," he said finally.
"Then put her clothes back on her."
He did the best he could. Her slacks weren't exactly on straight, but it would have to do. He gently rubbed her cheek.
"Get some help," I said. "If you don't mind, I'll wait here."
He didn't mind.
Chapter 30
If it hadn't been for the way his fingers kept picking at the arms of the wicker settee, I would have thought Tim Flood had gone to sleep. When I finished, he opened his predatory eyes for the first time since I'd started to talk. Thin gray filaments connected his lips as he spoke.
"Sounds like if I was going to pay the ten-grand bonus to anybody, it ought to be this Warren kid. Sounds to me like he saved everybody's ass."
"No doubt about it," I said.
"Tell me again how he knew where to find you."
"He followed me from the EPA office. He'd spent a couple of days camped out in this old abandoned cabin across the road from the last dump site. He'd been sleeping rough, in some clothes he stole from a neighbor's yard. He lost most everything he had in the fire. Figured it was best if whoever was trying to kill him thought he was dead."
"Not a bad idea," rasped Tim. "Used that trick once myself, back in thirty-five, I was - "
I was in no mood for stories. I kept talking.
"When it turned so cold on Tuesday night, he went into town and got himself a motel room. When he came back Wednesday morning and found the whole area cordoned off, crawling with toxic cleanup teams, he knew that the shit had already hit the fan. He figured he didn't have to worry about anybody making another attempt of his life. The cat was already out of the bag, so he went to see his grandmother. She filled him in on what was going on. They put their heads together and decided that the best thing they could do was to spill everything he knew to the EPA."
"This Charles Hayden jerk?"
"Right."
"Why in hell didn't the punk go to the heat to begin with?"
"It was tribal business. Some folks don't like their laundry done in public. Some folks don't go running to the authorities when they've got a problem. Some people like to handle their own problems."
A glint appeared in Tim's eye. He almost smiled.
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
"He was on his way in when he saw me coming out. He tailed me over to Ms. Kennedy's. When he saw me come out with Caroline, he followed us down to Tacoma."
"And saved your ass."
"And saved my ass."
We lapsed into silence. Only the drumming of Tim's untended fingernails on the wicker. We were alone in the solarium. Frankie was out. The twins waited, sphinxlike, outside the door. sweat trickled down my neck.
"So, the girl's gonna be all right?"
"The hospital is keeping her overnight, but they say she'll be just fine. She's got a concussion and a shiner you wouldn't believe."
"And this Kennedy broad's found her a job?"
"One of the doctor's she works with was looking for a nanny. They live out on Mercer Island. Need somebody to watch their kids during the day. Kennedy thinks it's the right thing for her. She thinks that maybe if she gets a chance to spend some time in a - with a - " I searched for words.
"A regular family." Tim helped me out, drilling me with his eyes.
"Something like that," I hedged. "Anyway, she thinks it will be good for her. Give her a sense of belonging somewhere to something."
He thought it over for a long time. I adjusted the sling cradling my left arm. The movement made my back throb. The heat was beginning to make my vision swim. The door behind me opened. I turned carefully. Frankie Ortega, immaculately dressed in a solid black suit, slid across the floor and took up his station behind Tim. Tim partially opened his eyes. He made a dismissive
gesture with his right hand.
"She gonna come and see me, Leo?"
"I'll see to it, Tim. As soon as she gets settled in."
"Tell her - " I waited. He waved himself off again.
"Tell her to come and see me."
"I'll take care of it."
"I know you will," he sighed. He drifted off, his chin coming to rest on the red cardigan sweater. I looked to Frankie.
Frankie gestured with his hand. We went out together, down he long hall, stopping at the double front doors. He picked up a large blue envelope from a table behind the left-hand door. The twins had somehow materialized behind us. They stood silent, rocking on the balls of their feet.
"It's all here, Leo. A little extra too." He was holding the envelope.
I took it.
"Make sure the girl comes to see him."
"I said I would."
"And you do what you say you're gonna."
"I try."
"Try hard," Frankie said.
Chapter 31
I was the last to arrive. Even a man of Jed's singular talents had been hard-pressed to pry me loose from the cops. It was nearly nine the next evening before I shuffled up to the Zoo.
The hand-lettered sign on the locked front door read CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. Yessir, that'd fool ‘em. Unless a detective like me happened by, nobody would ever suspect that there was some kind of wild, illegal, private party going on inside the Zoo. If you ignored the sound of broken glass, the banshee yelling, and the fact that the front door was actually vibrating in time to the bass speakers on the jukebox, the place was a model of circumspect decorum
Gingerly, trying not to jiggle my upper body, I banged on the door with my good arm. Nothing. I waited for a break in the howling music. Before I could react, "I Only Have Eyes for You" was suddenly replaced by "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport," which, if the sudden caterwauling was any indication, had been deemed a singalong. Damn. I knocked harder. Still nothing but more yowling in horribly mimicked Australian accents.
From behind the door came a familiar strained mumble.
"We're closed."
"Ralph, it's Leo."
"Leo who?"
"Goddammit, Ralph, open up."
His face was split with a huge grin as he peeked out through the crack.
"Just kiddin', Leo."
He swung the door wide. I stepped into the melee. Norman and Earlene were dancing atop the far end of the bar. Their mutual rhythm was nowhere in the vicinity of the music blasting out of the speakers. Harold and George, their backs resting on the bar, led a group of twenty or so seriously altered souls in fevered singing.
The Zoo may have been closed, but the bar was open. All the liquor had been removed from the glass shelves behind the bar and set out on the bar itself. Waldo was using the curved silver spout on a bottle of V.O. as a makeshift whiskey drip. Hector was slow-dancing in the middle of the floor with Mary. The Speaker was hugging the rail, passed out against the back wall. Might as well join the party.
As I stepped off into the melee, I was stopped by the sound of a familiar voice. "You gotta take better care of yourself, Leo."
I glanced over my left shoulder. Daniel Dixon and Miriam Stone occupied the first two stools along the bar. Daniel was nursing a beer. Miriam had a Coke on which several cherries floated. Daniel's face crinkled.
"First you lose an earlobe. Now they got you trussed up like a steer. You keep this up, there ain't gonna be nothin' left of you but a stump."
"Surprise, surprise," I said. "What are you two doing here?"
"I called your number," he said. "I got - " He pointed out onto the dance floor.
"Hector?"
"Yeah, Hector. He said they was having this party. Said you'd be here. You know I wouldn't miss a party." Miriam gave him a gentle elbow.
"Actually, Mr. Waterman," Miriam said, "we came here to thank you for all of your help."
"Bobby's the one you should be thanking."
She waved me off. "No. If you hadn't kept pushing, I'm sure they would have gotten away with it. As it is, the Tribal Council is taking a serious look at its policies. All because you kept pushing."
"If Bobby hadn't show up when he did, the only thing I'd be pushing is daisies."
"Your friends sure know how to throw a party," Daniel said.
"It's what they do best."
Someone tugged at the back of my jacket. Ralph.
"We're rich, Leo," he shouted.
I held up a finger. When I turned back to Daniel and Miriam, they were boogieing their way out to the dance floor. I turned back to Ralph.
"Rich, huh? How so Ralph?"
"Buddy left us money."
"Before I could inquire further, George spotted me. Dragging Harold away from a spirited rendition of "My Way," he shouldered his way over to me through the undulating crowd. We formed a tight circle.
"You got ‘em, Leo. The papers said you got ‘em," said Harold.
"We got them," I corrected.
"How's the girl?" asked George.
"She'll be fine. She gets out of the hospital in the morning."
"Maybe we should go visit her," Ralph said, a fresh fifth clutched under each arm. "Be a shame if she missed the party."
"Land of a Thousand Dances" came roaring from the jukebox. The crowd went wild, erupting into a primitive shout-and-stomp fest.
"Na, na na na na - "
"She's got company. Her boyfriend and Ms. Kennedy are keeping her company. I don't think Caroline's quite up to this yet."
"Neither was he," said George. He pointed to the single stool at the door end of the bar. A young fellow in a blue pinstriped suit slept contentedly, his right ear resting in and ashtray.
"Na na na na na na na na na." The voice rose.
"Who's that?"
"That's the lawyer fro Buddy's insurance company," said George. "He tracked us down this morning."
"Ralph poured him a couple," chuckled Harold.
"What's this about money?"
"Buddy had insurance. From the paper," said George.
"Two hundred fifty thousand bucks." Harold's eyes rolled.
"Gonna do the Pony, like Boney Maroni - "
"We're buying the rooming house," Ralph said.
"We're gonna be slumlords," said Harold.
"It's a little less than Mrs. Paultz was asking, but she says she wants us to have it," said George. "She was always a little sweet on Buddy."
"We was gonna buy the Zoo," said Ralph, dejectedly.
"We talked it over, decided that might not be a good idea," Harold noted, more for Ralph's benefit than for mine.
"Na na na na na, na na na, na na na na na. Na na na na na- "
" ‘Sides that," said Ralph, "we know lots of people got no place to go."
"You know a good lawyer, Leo?" asked George
"If I didn't know a good lawyer, I wouldn't be here now."
"Cops was a little pissed?" asked Harold.
"Just a little. They got over it."
"This lawyer of yours. He could help us?" asked George.
"No, but he'll know someone who can. I'll call him in the morning. We'll find somebody to handle it for you."
We stood, arm-in-arm, somehow encapsulated in our own little buddy of silence, as the maelstrom swirled about us.
Buddy had been right. I was back.
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